


Stasmia

by voleuse



Series: Divinity [5]
Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-18
Updated: 2005-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Perhaps it's no more than the fire's reflection.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stasmia

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers. Summary taken from _Fire's Reflection_ by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Sydney tastes like roses, he thinks, and salt.

In the idle moments when he considered matters such as this, he had never imagined this particular subtlety, but he finds that it suits her, and him.

He delves deeper, slower, and she groans. It's a low, singeing sound.

The afternoon wanes, light flickering golden through the dingy panes of the window. Her skin is patterned with fragile shadows, and he draws back to admire the lines, lets the last bit of sunlight paint her.

She moans, arches closer to him, but he insists, firming his hold on her hips, ducking his head between her thighs, indulging her briefly as the sun sets.

A street light fades on, replacing caramel afternoon with twilight shadow. Sydney twines a leg around his back, stroking his spine with her heel, and he slides his palms under her legs, marvels at the contrast between her skin and the threadbare fabric of the sofa.

She grumbles, but it barely registers in his ears before she's caught his shoulders in her hands. She draws him up from his prostration, draws him down as she eases onto the sofa.

Their legs tangle, and he braces his arm against the back and the edge of the sofa, studies her profile when she turns her face away.

Even at this point, as her fingers clutch at his hips, her hips rise to meet him, he cannot help but wonder.

"Sydney," he murmurs.

She jerks, turns to face him. He cannot name what lies behind her eyes, so he simply asks.

"Why?"

In answer, she shifts, angles her body, until he cannot deny her, or himself.

He sinks into her, slow as strangling, and presses his eyes shut.

They clutch each other, close to desperation, but not quite, and when he cannot hold back any longer, he does her the favor of not crying her name.


End file.
